in. It scares me." he admitted, climbing the bank to the dryer sand.
"After what happened to you, it should," Ivy replied, following him, laying the beach towel where he dropped his backpack, about twenty feet beyond the tidal line. "It's okay to be afraid, Guy. Anyone who had nearly drowned would be."
He pulled off his sweatshirt and T-shirt. It took Ivy's breath away, the strength and the vulnerability she saw in him. His back and shoulders were broad and muscular, but his skin a pale, grayish green with fading bruises.
"None of this looks familiar," he said, surveying the distant houses spread beyond the dunes.
He sat on the towel close to Ivy. The desire to put her arms around him, to shield him from the confusion and fear that haunted him, was so strong that she had to look away. Water Angel, help him, she prayed, then asked, "Do you believe in angels?"
"No. Do you?"
"Yes," she said firmly. Peeking sideways, she saw the corners of Guy's mouth curling upward. Tristan had once worn the same amused expression.
"I believe there are people who act like angels," Guy added, "showing up unexpectedly at the moment you need them. Like the little boy who gave me this." He inched in his pocket, pulling out a gold coin stamped with an angel. "He came to my hospital room and started jawing with me like he had known me all his life. There was something about that kid, the way he looked at me—it was as if he could see through me and understood something I didn't."
Ivy took the coin from him. "That kid—he's my brother."
"Your brother." Guy's eyes narrowed, as if he was trying hard to remember something. Ivy's cell phone went off and they both turned toward her bag. After a minute, the familiar ring tone stopped, then it began all over again.
"Aren't you going to answer it?" Guy asked. Ivy handed the coin back to him.
"Later. I, uh, want to get my feet wet," she said, and headed toward the waves.
She felt as if she couldn't fight it anymore than she could fight the sea, this deep connection she felt with Guy. It was a relief to stand in the surf, the ocean rushing against her legs, making her skin cold and tingly. Tristan had taught her to swim, and after Gregory had died, Ivy had taken lessons, becoming an even stronger swimmer.
Still, her feet fought the undertow and her arms prickled with the ocean's spray.
She was both afraid of and seduced by the sea. She stood there for a long time, then moved closer to the shore, crouching to look at a sparkling crescent of shells and pebbles. When she glanced up, Guy was standing ten feet away, watching her so closely she became self conscious. She stood up, and at the same time, he moved toward her, smiling.
"Your hair!" he said.
Feeling the wind tossing it this way and that, she reached back and caught her hair, holding it still. "What about it?"
"You should see it. It's ... wild."
She imagined it looked like kinky gold seaweed blowing in the wind. "Hey, do you see me laughing at yours?" Not that there is any reason to , she thought. His streaky blond hair had a curl to it— like hair an Italian sculptor might give a hero.
Guy laughed, then glanced over his shoulder. Her cell was ringing again. They caught a snatch of it before the breeze carried off the sound. "Same ringtone," he observed. "For some reason, it sounds to me like Will."
"It is."
"I made him nervous yesterday." When Ivy didn't comment, Guy went on. "I thought about telling him that he had nothing to worry about. . . . Does he have anything to worry about?"
"Like what?"
He smiled. "Well, when I was making the great escape from the hospital, I asked if I should say that I was your boyfriend. You quickly corrected me—brother, you said."
Ivy gazed downward and turned over a shell with her toe, as if fascinated by how it might look on the opposite side.
"A girl who quickly informs you that you cannot be her boyfriend is one of two things: very committed to her boyfriend, or feeling guilty because she's
"After what happened to you, it should," Ivy replied, following him, laying the beach towel where he dropped his backpack, about twenty feet beyond the tidal line. "It's okay to be afraid, Guy. Anyone who had nearly drowned would be."
He pulled off his sweatshirt and T-shirt. It took Ivy's breath away, the strength and the vulnerability she saw in him. His back and shoulders were broad and muscular, but his skin a pale, grayish green with fading bruises.
"None of this looks familiar," he said, surveying the distant houses spread beyond the dunes.
He sat on the towel close to Ivy. The desire to put her arms around him, to shield him from the confusion and fear that haunted him, was so strong that she had to look away. Water Angel, help him, she prayed, then asked, "Do you believe in angels?"
"No. Do you?"
"Yes," she said firmly. Peeking sideways, she saw the corners of Guy's mouth curling upward. Tristan had once worn the same amused expression.
"I believe there are people who act like angels," Guy added, "showing up unexpectedly at the moment you need them. Like the little boy who gave me this." He inched in his pocket, pulling out a gold coin stamped with an angel. "He came to my hospital room and started jawing with me like he had known me all his life. There was something about that kid, the way he looked at me—it was as if he could see through me and understood something I didn't."
Ivy took the coin from him. "That kid—he's my brother."
"Your brother." Guy's eyes narrowed, as if he was trying hard to remember something. Ivy's cell phone went off and they both turned toward her bag. After a minute, the familiar ring tone stopped, then it began all over again.
"Aren't you going to answer it?" Guy asked. Ivy handed the coin back to him.
"Later. I, uh, want to get my feet wet," she said, and headed toward the waves.
She felt as if she couldn't fight it anymore than she could fight the sea, this deep connection she felt with Guy. It was a relief to stand in the surf, the ocean rushing against her legs, making her skin cold and tingly. Tristan had taught her to swim, and after Gregory had died, Ivy had taken lessons, becoming an even stronger swimmer.
Still, her feet fought the undertow and her arms prickled with the ocean's spray.
She was both afraid of and seduced by the sea. She stood there for a long time, then moved closer to the shore, crouching to look at a sparkling crescent of shells and pebbles. When she glanced up, Guy was standing ten feet away, watching her so closely she became self conscious. She stood up, and at the same time, he moved toward her, smiling.
"Your hair!" he said.
Feeling the wind tossing it this way and that, she reached back and caught her hair, holding it still. "What about it?"
"You should see it. It's ... wild."
She imagined it looked like kinky gold seaweed blowing in the wind. "Hey, do you see me laughing at yours?" Not that there is any reason to , she thought. His streaky blond hair had a curl to it— like hair an Italian sculptor might give a hero.
Guy laughed, then glanced over his shoulder. Her cell was ringing again. They caught a snatch of it before the breeze carried off the sound. "Same ringtone," he observed. "For some reason, it sounds to me like Will."
"It is."
"I made him nervous yesterday." When Ivy didn't comment, Guy went on. "I thought about telling him that he had nothing to worry about. . . . Does he have anything to worry about?"
"Like what?"
He smiled. "Well, when I was making the great escape from the hospital, I asked if I should say that I was your boyfriend. You quickly corrected me—brother, you said."
Ivy gazed downward and turned over a shell with her toe, as if fascinated by how it might look on the opposite side.
"A girl who quickly informs you that you cannot be her boyfriend is one of two things: very committed to her boyfriend, or feeling guilty because she's
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